To Save The Soul
by The Logical Ghost
Summary: When John asked the Devil to free a soul, he might have reconsidered who he was saving. Especially when the damned come back to haunt him, and new dangers arise . . . Chap. 4 up.
1. Dreaming of Damnation

Something a little different. Should I continue? I do not own Constantine.

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John stared. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then stared some more.

He knew this was a dream, a vision sent to him from the soul before him. He could have woken himself up, but that would have been cruel. Damned souls have a very difficult time sending messages to the living. They're usually important.

"You bastard."

John reached out one hand, but in this dream world he couldn't touch the figure chained to the stone wall with links of fire. Dark eyes glared at him, accusingly, desperately, with immeasurable fury.

"You free the twin, yeah, sure, of course you have to free the twin. She's obviously much more important than me, huh? Of course. Why did I even think you cared?"

John tried to scream, to call out to the wretched soul, to beg for forgiveness. He hadn't realized . . . He had never even thought about it . . . He'd never considered that maybe this soul was not going to be redeemed and brought into heaven. But he couldn't make a sound.

"Not that I should have expected anything different. No one ever cared about me. My family, you, all the same, no one gives a crap."

John cringed. To be compared to this soul's family was an insult even he could feel stabbing his conscience.

"Anyway, I'm just the messenger. I'm supposed to warn you that he's got a lot more aces up his sleeve, and he's getting ready to use them."

John didn't need to ask who "he" was. The scenery was clue enough.

"Don't let him drag you back down so easily, John." The soul laughed. "I'm surprised I even care so much. You were always easy to get attached to. No matter how much you push everyone away."

With a sad little laugh, the specter released John from the vision, sending him hurtling back into wakefulness. John sat up suddenly, breathing quickly, automatically fumbling for the gum on the bedside table.

Consciousness brought sadness, sarcasm, and most of all, disbelief. As he replayed the dream in his mind, he could not deny the face who had given him the message, as much as he didn't believe it.

"Chas . . . ?"

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Well? Do I continue? Just hit the review button . . . 


	2. Speaking of Sin

Well, I got two reviews – thank you, eris and Detroit! – so I'll post a second chappie. I have no idea where this is going, by the way. Please write me comments or suggestions!

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"Calm down, John. I know this is hard for you –"

"I don't want any fucking sympathies. I just want to know why."

"Why? Why do you need to know? Will this knowledge help? Will it save your friend?"

Since Gabriel flipped, John had been forced to find a new half-breed as a source of information. Michael was very helpful, but had the annoying habit of trying to guide you down the path of reasoning before he actually told you anything.

Now, John glared at the angelic expression of innocence. "Don't give me that morality shit. Just answer the question."

Michael sighed. "You channel your energy into such futile tasks. When all the world could use your powerful exorcisms, you choose to spend time chasing after lost souls." He shook his head. "Humans are so confusing sometimes."

Rolling his eyes, John sat down heavily on a bench. Reaching automatically into his pocket, he pulled out two packs of gum – one nicotine and one normal. Taking a piece from each, he sat back to wait for Michael to finish his speech.

"You can save hundreds of people from demons of all sorts, and all you want to do is save the lives and souls of a few people close to you. And then you insist on making sure they made it to heaven, no matter how hopeless the task seems. For a man who was just saved himself and died twice, you'd think you'd be more aware of how short your time is on this earth, and you'd spend more time helping other people than fulfilling your own private goals. You go to church, you repent, you keep safe your redemption, and yet you are so ignorant of the cries of anyone who is not your friend."

John was getting fed up. "So I should save the entire world, is that what you're saying?"

Michael looked affronted by the interruption, and ruffled his feathers indignantly. "You could try."

There was a pause. "Are you done?"

Michael sighed again, this time in defeat. "All right, if you insist. The truth of the matter is that your young friend made a deal with the devil. Of the usual type."

"Chas?" John started. "Chas made a deal? I don't believe it."

"Believe it. Although the devil himself was not named, he took advantage of a rather peculiar offer the boy made. And you were part of the deal."

John gave the half-breed a very incredulous look. "How?"

Michael shrugged. "That is all I know."

"Shit!" John said, standing. "You know more. You just won't tell me."

"There are rules, Constantine," Michael said softly, "And I am not as eager as Gabriel to break them."

John shot another angry glare in Michael's direction. Throwing the gum wrappers into a litter bin, he stormed out of the park.

"Be careful," Michael shouted at the retreating figure. "He gave you a warning. You should heed it."

"The only warning I need," John replied, "is one for the Devil, because he's going to loose a soul soon."

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Please review! 


	3. Moving through Memory

Thanks again to Detroit, and to Shlee Verde, Falcon Horus, Xelena, and NghtStlkr64 for reviewing! This is a rather long chapter, but I have a plan now. This is also a kind of confusing and angst chapter, sorry, but I promise it will get more interesting.

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John looked up, and sighed. Of course, his wandering, wondering feet had led him here.

The leaves had piled up in huge drifts around the crumbling old stonework, and the rain had collected in wide, shallow pools where the ground had settled, forcing the breaking pavement to slope inwards. Empty bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms littered the ground – this was a good, removed place for the young and restless.

John hoped they wouldn't be punished too badly for sinning on sacred ground. After all, if was hard to tell that the place had once been a church.

_It was cold, bitterly cold in that sharp way that cut through clothing and skin alike and pierced the very soul. The wind was just strong enough to sharpen the chill, but still weak enough to let the sounds coming from the old church echo though the air._

He paused in front of the doorway to consider the spaces in the stonework framed in rusted iron. Once, there had been beautiful stained glass windows, the pride of any church. Now the twisted metal leered at all who dared to come close, letting only the coldest winds swirl into the abandoned hall.

He stepped over the rotting remains of the huge wooden doors. The growing pile of mulch was still held in place near the building by the cage-like frames of metal that had once adorned the huge doors with networks of delicate ironwork.

_He followed the sounds inside. Soon he could make out two voices: one deep and furious, laced with alcohol, and the other high, filled with terror and punctuated with screams and sobs. One yelling, the other pleading, one accusing, the other begging for forgiveness that would not be given._

As he entered the church, he stopped. The cold, bare stone was dark and still, the only movement caused by the wind rustling through leaves and tattered remains of human life. Yet, his mind could not be still, and instead forced him to see movement where is was not now, but had been.

Memories found their way into his eyes and forced him to see what was no longer there.

_The boy was scrabbling against the cold stone in the corner as if it would push aside and give him a way to escape the looming figure and the belt with one of those huge, senseless Western belt buckles. Blood had become the center of the color scheme, contrasting oddly with the grey stone._

There's a theory that every sound ever made still exists in the air, too soft to be heard. The sounds of the past had found their way back into John's ears. Voices mingled with sound effects arranged themselves in his brain to play alongside his memories.

_Please stop, please, just stop, I'll be good, please, stop it . . ._

_You worthless, pathetic little moron . . . no wonder she didn't want to take you . . ._

_No, please, stop, I promise I'll be good, please, just stop . . ._

He'd had a thousand questions to ask. What were they doing in the church? What had he done to promote the man's anger? Where had he lived? How had he lived before luck had brought John out for an exorcism and then sent him out to walk and think about life?

He paused. Luck . . .

_This ain't none of you business, weirdo._

_I'm making it my business. Get the fuck out of here._

He made his way to the corner, wisps of visions fading as reality brought the empty stone into view. Protected from the wind by the remains of the winding staircase, protected from the rain by the once-white stone alter, protected from the kids by the darkness and damp, time had not touched this small space.

He bit his lip. Was it only memory that stained the stones red? Or was there still a lingering touch of blood?

_Can you walk, kid? Kid?_

_Thank you . . . thank you . . ._

_Don't pass out, I really don't want to carry you – _

He'd made it to the door, he remembered. That had been the difficult part, getting out. The rest was just a quick jaunt to the churchthat had long replaced this one, where an old priest had patched him up and found an orphanage.

John sat down in one of the more sturdy pews, letting memories fade away. Chas stayed in the orphanage for a while, but it was clear no one was going to adopt him. Bright as he was, the older kids get, the less chance they'll be adopted.

Why he had been talked into taking the kid himself, he would never understand. Part of it was the number of people who were telling him he should. Part of it was guilt – the whole "the life you save is yours to care for" kept getting on his nerves. And part of it, of course, was that it counted as a good deed.

But, looking back, he wondered why he had bothered in the first place. What strange impulse had brought him here, to save someone he didn't know?

With a growing feeling of uncertainty, he got up and strode briskly out of the church. Time to find some answers.

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	4. Arguing without Answers

This is going to be a bit of a bumpy ride, I think, especially with the chapters getting longer and longer. This one goes back to conversations, because I can't just leave Midnight out of this, but there are also some important clues, so don't just ignore this one. Thanks to Detroit, Xelena, Falcon Horus, and Ratatusk for the reviews!

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"What do you mean, you won't help?" John shouted into the phone, getting odd looks from the people passing by. He glared at them and turned back towards the payphone., shielding his head from the cold wind.

"I mean what I say," crackled the familiar, deep voice. "Unlike some people, I still remember the balance."

"Fuck the balance – "

"_Constantine . . ._"

John sighed. "Why do you have to be so fucking obsessed with the balance? No one cares anymore, Midnight. No one except you."

"Then I feel sorry for the world, and you, because you will all be damned. That is my final word, Constantine."

"Wait!" John grabbed at any straw he could. "Let me tell you what this is about, okay? Just listen to me for a minute."

"You have no more than that," Midnight said with a sigh.

John bit his lip. "You remember Chas?"

"The boy whom Gabriel killed? The walking encyclopedia?"

"Yeah, that's him. Anyway, I just got a friendly little warning, courtesy of everyone's least favorite friend."

"Oh? What did the Devil have to say?"

"That Chas is damned and I should be careful."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence. Midnight had taken a liking to Chas, and John was hoping that that would be enough to solicit the shaman's help.

The final response, however, was the one question John had been avoiding, because he was beginning to dread the answer.

"Why would the boy be damned?"

John sighed. "I don't know. All Michael would say was that the Devil took advantage of Chas. You know how he works."

Midnight sounded almost chastising. "If he sold his soul, there is nothing anyone can do. He belongs to whatever power took his offer."

"But Chas wouldn't do that!" John said, constraining himself from screaming the words. "He knows about that stuff. He would never have done anything like that!"

"If you refuse to see the facts right in front of you, not even He can help. Those blinded by their emotions see less than those who cannot see."

"Midnight! Don't hang up the . . ."

With a sigh, John hung up the phone and listened to the clink of change falling down into its slot. With determination, he scooped the coins out, fished in his pocket for some more, and shoved them all into the phone. He only needed to hit one button.

"I have invested in caller ID, you know. It recognizes payphone numbers."

"Give me one more chance. Please."

The pause seemed to take up an eternity, and the sigh ever longer. "You have an extension on that minute."

John took a deep breath. "Michael talked about some open-ended offer – you know how people say things without thinking. And he mentioned that I might have been part of the bargin."

"Could this be true?" There was a note of interest in the crackling voice.

"I don't know! I certainly don't remember anything suspicious involving demonic influence at the time . . ."

"You sound unsure."

"Well . . ." He paused, and decided it wouldn't hurt. "Do you think there's any such thing as luck?"

Midnight seemed to consider the question seriously. "No. Everything is influence – His plan or the whisperings from below . . . do you think you might have been affected?"

John leaned back against the plastic case of the payphone, his mind working to consider something he really didn't want to believe. "I don't know anything. Luck always seems to be a part of life. If we're going to go out on a limb and say it's all influence, I'd run out of times luck was on my side when it came to Chas." He was currently considering one particular time, but he didn't want Midnight to know about that just yet. That was completely personal. "Like I said before, Chas knew all about dealings with demons and the consequences. Shit, he was scared enough when I told him about my problem. He wouldn't have done anything even vaguely like it."

"The boy did not always know you, Constantine, and you did not always know him," Midnight said sadly, and with a tone of finality. "Remember that. And remember to watch over your own newly redeemed soul, lest you loose yourself and the boy. I suggest you look for what you do not know. I wish you luck, though I do not think you will succeed."

Knowing that he'd already pushed Midnight to the limits of conversation, John hung up the phone. Now, at least, the shaman knew the situation, and could listen for information, or perhaps even help in some limited and yet unknown way.

He stared at the telephone and wished that the phone book held listings for damned souls. At least, with a telephone book, you're limited to several thousand pages of names. Compared to the hunt he was going to have to go on, that was pissing small change.

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